


give and toke

by scribespirare



Category: Kane and Feels (Podcast)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Kane is a size queen, Kane isn't dysphoric at all in this b/c it an ideal world damnit, Living Together, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Size Difference, Size Kink, Squirting, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Lucifer Kane, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribespirare/pseuds/scribespirare
Summary: Luce puts on a certain amount of air when they’re meeting clients and doing their job. But Brutus likes his partner like this a lot more; all loose limbed on the couch, high as a kite, and half-naked. It’s kind of distracting, honestly.
Relationships: Brutus Feels/Lucifer Kane
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	give and toke

**Author's Note:**

> is this fic wildly self-indulgent and also probably ooc? yes. am i posting it regardless? also yes. deal. 
> 
> no but fr hope y'all enjoy this i absolutely had to write it after realizing how much these two probably smoke together. pls don't kill me over the title its fucking hilarious and i dont make the rules

Having the weight of someone’s head on your shoulder is quite nice, actually. Brutus has never been much of a cuddler. But he might have to give it a go sometime if just the simple act of someone leaning against him is so pleasant.

Or maybe that’s the weed talking.

The buds had been a strange, crystalline blue that had faded into a more purplish color once ground. The inside of Brutus’ favorite grinder is now stained the same color. He might be more upset about the discoloration if Lucifer hadn’t shoved the bong into his hands as quickly as he had, giving him the green. Or the purple, as it were.

Luce’s hair is messy and dark and it smells a little of weed and something floral Brutus can’t name. He has to fight to keep his head upright so he doesn’t just press his cheek into that rats’ nest and breathe the scent in. Strangely, Luce always smells nice, no matter the circumstances. You wouldn’t think someone who looks like Lucy would smell nice, all disheveled and mouthing off like a madman half the time. But he does.

He’s in the middle of one of those madman rambles right now; something about a case they’d had last week, but Brutus doesn’t care to keep up with it. Luce doesn’t care either. A lot of the time he talks just to talk, whether Brutus is listening to him or not. He’s gesturing wildly with his hands, gently jostling both of them in their prone position on the couch, as he leans heavily into Brutus. He feels so small like this, neatly tucked up against Brutus’ side. It’s no secret that there’s a bit of a size difference between them. Brutus himself is four inches shy of seven feet and has been packing on weight as he ages. Lucifer by comparison is barely over five feet and whip-thin, his body lean and almost bony, all hard angles and corded, visible muscle. If Brutus didn’t know exactly how much the man eats he’d be concerned that he wasn’t getting enough calories. But no, they eat nearly the same amount. Lucifer’s trim form is just genetic.

Luce puts on a certain amount of air when they’re meeting clients and doing their job. His dramatic flared coat with the stupidly high collar, the charms and pendants and rings, the carefully trimmed facial hair, the tailored waistcoats, all serving to make him look like someone who actually knows a thing or two about the supernatural. And as much as Brutus appreciates that look, he likes his partner like this a lot more. All loose limbed on the couch, high as a kite, half-naked because when they’re home alone he can almost never be bothered to wear a full set of clothes. Tonight he’s missing his shirt, and the sweatpants slung low on his hips are ratty and old. It’s kind of distracting, honestly.

Whatever strain they’d smoked has Brutus feeling heady and soft. There’s a faint buzz under his skin, like he’s been plugged into an outlet and now has a current of electricity running through him. His mind is a little clearer than it usually is when high, and he can’t help but stare down at the man at his side.

“And _then,_ ” Luce is saying, swinging his arm wide. The motion causes his breasts to bounce, just a little, and the rest of the sentence is completely lost on Brutus. He hadn’t been expecting the trans thing when they’d moved in together. Luce had never bothered to mention it, apparently trusting that Brutus wouldn’t have any objections. And he’d been right of course. Brutus hadn’t cared past his initial surprise.

Except for when Luce parades around shirtless like he’s want to do. His breasts aren’t particularly large, a b-cup maybe, but they’re perky and cute and downright distracting. Brutus has a hard time not staring. He bets they’d fit nicely in the palms of his hands. As high as he is right now he swears he can feel the brush of smooth, brown skin and the press of hard nipples against his palms, can feel their slight weight and the give of warm flesh. They’re probably soft. Brutus wonders if Luce likes having them played with. He doesn’t seem to have much top dysphoria since he’s never mentioned binding or surgery, so maybe he’d be okay with someone pinching his nipples. Biting them even, maybe.

“Earth to Brutus.”

The use of his name has Brutus snapping out of his thoughts and he jerks a little. Luce is leaning away from him, having picked his head up. One dark brow is raised and the twist of his mouth is amused. “There you are.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been talking to you,” Luce says slowly, his words far too precise for how high he is.

“Yes,” Brutus confirms, willing his gaze not to skip lower than it should. But when Luce moves Brutus catches sight of the trail of dark hair just under his navel and he can’t help but stare a little. What the hell kind of weed did Luce give him? Does it double as an aphrodisiac or something? Regardless, he wants to follow that trail, see where it leads him.

A hand against his shoulder once again brings Brutus back to the real world. He goes easily enough when Luce pushes him until he’s slumped into the couch again. He hadn’t even noticed sitting up, apparently physically lured in by the sight of that happy trail. Or maybe the tits. Both, probably. “What’re you doin’?” he tries to ask.

“Putting you out of your misery,” Luce says simply, and then straddles Brutus’ lap. Brutus immediately grabs at his hips, moving on instinct. It’s like Luce’s mere weight against his legs works as a stimulant, his mind and body momentarily fighting off the haze of the blue drug.

“What?”

Luce’s hands come to rest on Brutus’ shoulders. Brutus can name the number of times Luce has touched him like this off the top of his head. Much like Brutus, he’s not exactly the cuddly type, and their physical contact usually begins and ends at their fingers brushing as they both reach for the last eggroll. Sometimes Luce will slap Brutus on the back, but even that is fairly rare.

And now, here he is, in Brutus’ lap. All warm with his slight weight, his hips bony and fragile feeling under Brutus’ big hands. Damn, their skin looks good together like that; black against tawny brown. Brutus flexes his fingers, spreads them out, feels how small Luce’s waist really is.

“Christ, can you focus for two damn seconds?” Luce says, and Brutus finally looks up at him again. It's weird to be eye to eye with that familiar face instead of looking down into it. “Very good, thank you. Now, you have to know you haven’t been subtle.”

“No I most certainly have not,” Brutus agrees, because there’s really no hiding how he’s been ogling. When he’s not high he’s going to feel quite guilty about it.

“I don’t just mean today,” Luce says, adjusting his weight a little. “I meant in general. You’re always…staring. Never making a move. Just now I could have sworn you were drooling and I’ve decided I’ve had enough of it. Either _do_ something about it, man, or stop looking at me like that.”

“Oh,” Brutus says, fingers flexing again. And, really, how’s a man supposed to respond to that? Especially with such a, dare he say it, _pretty_ piece in his lap. And Lucifer _is_ pretty, his dark eyes heavy-lidded, hair mused in stark contrast to the neat trim of his beard, all lean muscle and bared breasts and thighs spread wide over Brutus’ lap. “Can I?”

Luce rolls his eyes and then immediately follows it with a shallow roll of his hips. “I’m practically throwing myself at you here, Brute. Take the damn hint already.”

“Consider me hinted.” It’s oh so easy to give in and pull Luce closer, to lean up and kiss thin lips. Luce’s beard scrapes pleasantly against Brutus’ face and his arms come around Brutus’ neck, pulling him in close. It’s a languid kiss, both of them too high to worry about trivial things like coordination. Luce’s mouth is hot and tastes of smoke and his tongue is wicked the way it flicks against Brutus’ own.

They make out like teenagers for a while, and honestly it should be really weird. They’ve known each other for years. Been _friends_ for years. Hell, they went into business together, rented this apartment together, and not once during all of that did their relationship ever veer into the sexual. Or the romantic, for that matter.

But it’s not weird at all. It feels…natural, almost. Like coming home after a long day. Like he knows Luce will always be there to support him, to meet him halfway and watch his blind spots for him. Keep him safe. Lead on as the senior partner in their duo. This is just an extension of the relationship they’ve been cultivating for nigh on a decade now, really.

They end up laid across the couch horizontally, Brutus on his back and Luce stretched atop him. Brutus lets his hands wander, sweeping up the smooth expense of that narrow back, feeling bones and muscle shift under the skin. When Luce bites near-viciously at Brutus’ lower lip, Brutus finally gains the courage to let his touch wander lower. He slips his hands under the loose waistband of Luce’s sweatpants and grabs two handfuls of ass. Luce jerks against him and lets out this noise, quiet and breathy, like he hadn’t wanted to make it at all.

They pause, simultaneously caught off guard, before diving back into the kiss with renewed vigor. For a moment Brutus just enjoys holding Luce close, gently squeezing the flesh of the man’s ass. But Brutus’ hands are so big, his fingers so long, that he can feel, faintly, where Luce is molten hot and starting to get wet. Brutus slides two fingers down along his vulva and groans at exactly how wet Luce is, slick and near to dripping. _Fuck._

Lucifer groans in tandem with him, hips arching like he wants those fingers deeper. Again, Brutus appreciates exactly how small Luce is in comparison to him, because it means his reach is long enough that he can get at Luce’s clit with two fingers from this angle. He’s also able to press his thumb slowly, testingly, inside Luce.

Another one of those desperate, unintentional noises slips from Luce and he pulls away from their kiss, breathing hard. Brutus watches his face closely as he works circles along his partner’s clit and starts to thrust his thumb. Luce is _tight_ around him, and so hot it’s almost uncomfortable. Brutus wants to fuck him so bad it hurts. His dick is hard and trapped in the front of his jeans, the zipper digging uncomfortably against sensitive skin.

Brutus is speeding up his ministrations when Luce wriggles his hips, dislodging Brutus’ hand. He frowns, about to ask if the other man is okay, but Luce sits up and very purposefully grinds his hips down into Brutus' trapped cock. Brutus gasps, all thoughts flying from his head, and his hips twitch up in automatic response.

Luce smirks down at him, pomp and haughty. “Let’s lose the clothes, hm?” He wriggles off of Brutus until he’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, hips raised so he can tug his sweatpants off completely. For a moment Brutus gets caught up in watching him, eating up each inch of revealed skin along his thighs and calves. Then he gets with the picture and starts tugging at his own clothes.

“Maybe we should move to a bed?” he suggests once they’re sitting there naked together. Luce looks up at him from where he’d gotten his foot caught in his pants, and his jaw falls open.

“Gods damn, man,” Luce breathes.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Brutus looks down at himself, trying to figure out exactly what Luce is objecting to. “What?” he asks, running an open palm over his stomach. It certainly has grown over the years, spilling over his waistband, but it’s not like Luce didn’t know that Brutus was fat. Can’t exactly keep something like that a secret. And Brutus doesn’t usually mind; he’s content with the way he looks, honestly. He’s fit despite the extra weight, and he thinks he wears it well. But if Luce doesn’t like it…

But Luce doesn’t look disgusted. He crawls across the couch on all fours, that intent look in his eyes that only appears when something supernatural has truly caught his attention.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, pressing himself against Brutus’ side and grabbing at his…dick? “It’s as big as the rest of you. Jesus, how do you hide this thing away?”

Brutus stares down at him in confusion, completely caught off guard. Or maybe that’s still the weed. “What?” he repeats.

“Your cock!” Luce exclaims, finally looking up at Brutus again. “You have to know you’re _well_ above average here, Brute.” 

Brutus’ uncharacteristic bout of self-consciousness fades as quickly as it had come on, leaving him feeling inordinately pleased. “Am I?” he asks, because really he hadn’t put much thought into the size of his own penis in comparison to everyone else's.

Luce rolls his eyes at him and then very purposefully holds his forearm up against Brutus’ dick, as if to demonstrate its size. It reaches from elbow to wrist on Luce, who mutters, “Christ, what is that, eleven inches?”

“Never measured it, actually,” Brutus admits, which Luce scoffs at.

“How many people have declined sex with you after seeing this monster?”

It takes a moment but Brutus finally hedges, “A few,” much to Luce’s delight.

“Don’t worry, I like a challenge,” Luce says once he’s done laughing. “Now lay back.”

Brutus does as he’s told, wondering at what position Luce has in mind for them. Their size difference is probably going to make it impossible for Brutus to kiss his partner while they fuck, which is a shame.

But Luce maneuvers himself so he’s straddling Brutus’ chest, backwards, instead of his hips. The reason becomes evident when he immediately gets his hands and mouth on Brutus’ cock, wasting no time in getting to work. Brutus jerks, not expecting the wet lips and tongue suddenly on him, then groans a low, “Christ.”

Luce huffs a laugh, the warmth of his breath hitting Brutus’ shaft and making him shiver. “This is a quid pro quo here, Brute,” he says, pointedly wriggling his hips. “Get to work.”

If they were of a more similar size, Brutus might be able to get his mouth on Luce too. Eat him out until Luce’s thighs are shaking and Brutus’ entire face is soaked in him. But alas, it’s not to be. So Brutus licks two of his fingers and gets to work fucking Luce with them, other hand working his partner’s clit. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out Luce prefers rougher movements, his hips pressing back into Brutus’ touch as he moans around Brutus’ cock.

Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s their inherent compatibility, so incredibly obvious now that Brutus is looking for it, but Luce’s mouth on him feels better than literally anyone else Brutus has ever been with. Not like he’s slept around a lot in his life, but he’s been with his fair share of men and women over the years. And none of them compare to Luce; his small hands stroking the parts he can’t reach, squeezing at Brutus’ balls and running up and down his thighs, that wicked tongue of his, bobbing head and swallowing throat that Brutus wants to bury himself in but is too polite to try.

He’s not sure their apartment has ever sounded so obscene, between both of their moans and the slick noises of dick sucking and fingering. Luce is practically dripping down Brutus’ wrist he’s so wet, even when Brutus adds a third and then fourth finger. After a while Brutus simply can’t take it anymore.

“Luce,” he says, voice coming out low and slightly strained. When his partner doesn’t respond, he tries again. “Lucy. Lucifer.” That catches his attention, and he pulls off of Brutus’ cock with an audible _pop_.

“What? I’m clearly bus-” But he doesn’t get the chance to finish his statement because Brutus hooks his arms around his partner’s thighs and drags him backward. Luce yelps, caught off guard, then moans when Brutus finally, _finally_ gets his mouth on him.

Luce adjusts himself, knees around Brutus’ face, one hand on Brutus’ chest and the other gripping the back of the couch to help him keep his balance. “ _Christ,_ Bruce, who the fuck taught you that?”

Brutus doesn’t respond, too busy sucking on Luce’s clit and thrilling in the way it makes the man’s thighs shake. He tastes…well, like pussy, just like anyone else would, but somehow its still better than anyone else Brutus has slept with. He lets go of Luce’s clit and focuses on swiping his tongue in long, languid strokes along his vulva. Luce responds by arching his hips in tandem, grinding himself against Brutus’ face as he moans. He throws his head back and goes completely taught and silent when Brutus begins to tongue fuck him, moving straight to hard and fast since that seems to be what Luce prefers.

It only takes a minute or so of Brutus alternating between tongue fucking him and sucking on his clit for Luce to come. He cries out, entire body locking up, fine tremors working through him from head to toe as he convulses around Brutus’ tongue. It’s…incredibly fucking hot, even more so when Brutus fucks him even harder, grabbing those quaking thighs and pulling Luce tighter against him, so tight Brutus can’t even breathe anymore, and it makes Luce _squirt_.

When Brutus finally pulls away they’re both breathing hard and Brutus is absolutely drenched. They may or may not need to reupholster the couch after this if they ever want their living room to _not_ smell like sex.

“Perhaps a bed and maybe a few towels might have been a good idea,” Luce admits, his voice ragged and breathless still. But that doesn’t stop him from swinging around until he’s straddling Brutus’ thighs, giving his much neglected cock a good stroke. Brutus’ hips twitch up and he sighs, eyes fluttering. Even just Luce’s hand feels amazing.

“Probably,” he agrees, and also doesn’t stop Luce from hovering over his dick and lining himself up. In fact, he reaches down and grabs Luce’s hips to help steady him as he slowly starts to sink down. They groan in unison, Luce’s eyes closing as he slowly, oh so slowly tires to work Brutus inside him. He leans forward with his palms on Brutus’ belly.

“Christ, you’re big,” he mutters when he’s about halfway down.

Brutus, breathing hard from just how fucking tight Luce is around him, huffs a laugh. “You’ve already said that.”

“Yeah, well, it bears repeating.”

“We don’t have to-”

“Oh yes we fuckin’ do. You just made me squirt, Brute. I’m going to ride your dick into the goddamn sunset,” Luce hisses, and it makes Brutus laugh again, the serious expression on Luce’s face at direct contrast to his sweating, flushed body, hard, dark nipples, and the way he’s so carefully lowering himself onto Brutus’ cock.

It takes some time -time Brutus uses to run his hands over every inch of Luce he can reach, finally getting to play with those tits like he’d been daydreaming about earlier- but eventually Luce takes every inch of Brutus. It leaves him shaky and breathing hard, but he’s quivering with pleasure, not pain, and his eyes are near clouded over

It takes every ounce of Brutus’ self control not to grab Luce by the hips and fuck up into him. He’s hot and wet and _tight_ around him, like a goddamn dream, and Brutus wants nothing more than to chase both of their pleasures. But he waits, giving his partner time to adjust. And in turn, Luce rewards him. He might not ride Brutus off into the actual sunset, but he makes a damn good go of it. Brutus is just along for the trip, grasping at hips and breasts and thighs as Luce bounces atop him, switching between slamming his hips down against Brutus and rolling them in enticing, maddening circles.

Neither of them is quiet about it, and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoes loudly in the living room. They’ve never apologized to their neighbors for the smell of weed that must permanently seep through the walls, so Brutus can’t imagine either of them will be inclined to apologize for this either; Luce practically screaming in his pleasure and Brutus’ low moans echoing right alongside him.

Luce comes two more times before Brutus does, the first time just shaking all over, and the second squirting again, gushing so hard it's nearly painful for Brutus. But the image of Luce coming like that again, muscles taught as he shakes through his pleasure, mouth open and chest heaving while he soaks them both…well, it drives Brutus over the edge all the same. He comes inside Luce with a loud moan of his own, fingers tight enough to leave bruises on Luce’s hips.

Luce collapses against Brutus, still shaking all over and breathing heavily. Brutus can relate. He stares sightlessly at the ceiling and focuses on trying to even out the heaving of his chest and the racing of his heart. Fuck, he’s not sure he’s ever had sex that good before. Which is surprising considering he’s in his thirties now and supposedly your twenties and earlier are apparently best for that kind of thing. Or so rumor goes.

“Do I have to get you high to do that again, or can I just sit on your dick whenever I feel like now?” Luce asks crudely, tiredly, from where he’s still draped over Brutus’ belly. When Brutus laughs it jolts Luce and he shoots the man a dirty look from his position.

“At least let me take you out on a date or something? Unless you’re just after the occasional fuck and nothing more,” Brutus says, rubbing a hand down his sweaty face.

Luce grumbles lightly and pushes himself up with effort. He grimaces when he finally lifts his hips and Brutus’ now soft cock slips out of him. It’s followed by a rush of cum and slick that also makes Brutus grimace. All of this is going to a bitch to clean up, he can already tell.

“Can we just order Chinese and call it a date?” Luce asks. He stands from the couch and hisses, rubbing at his lower back. “Christ, that dick of yours is a beast. I’m going to be feeling that for a while.”

“Might be better if we make it to an actual bed next time.” Brutus heaves himself up, feeling sore himself. Their couch has certainly seen better days and has been known to grow extremely uncomfortable if you spend too long on it. Or fuck on it, apparently. “Our usual order?” he asks, grabbing his phone.

Luce just grunts and Brutus takes that as an affirmative. Feeling strangely domestic and relaxed, he puts in their order while his partner runs a shower. Their living room smells of sex and weed and _them_ and, somehow, it feels more like home than ever.

With the order placed, Brutus finds his feet and goes to join Luce in the shower. It's a bit of a tight squeeze with Brutus’ size, but they make do. And if the food is sitting outside the front door and cold by the time they make it out, well, that’s what a microwave is for. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](https://scribespirare.tumblr.com/)! and also maybe yell at me about kaf??? b/c i have no fucking clue whats going on and i need answers lmao


End file.
